i Woke from a dream and in it i was Begging you to have Sex with me on cam bc, as i
said in My dream we’d already had sex in person, in R/t ,and tho i had Experienced you in every other way ,i had not visually,it was one of those post/sleep chaotic Moments when it All merges, the Tails of Many things, and i was searchin, searchin….

not onli bc i was NOT certain we had had R/t sex but also bc you looked like Someone else in My dream,but you/were/not/Him, you/were/You ,and i felt Something Significant had Happened,but i was Not Sure What, and then i Rose and went to My door, and it was Wide Open and i KNEW it HAD been left Shut, and i Thought was Someone here while I slept? Have i been the victim of a
Theft?

and then i went to my deck and Looked out across the Water, and there was a rainbow Strung across the Metallic evening Skies, and the Trees were Shivering The Way They do when a Storm is coming…

and i re/Called your Voice, and i re/Membered You, it was so Very Very Late, Long Past Coherence, there Was no sex,no subspace, just this and onli this, Your voice, Orpheus Descending,dreaming me Down,Down into inchoate layers, Lost, interpretative Dance,Open to Any and All Meanings i Might assign This,

inDelibly Scrawled,Forever Archived,You,you,you…

and i WANTED to Call Somebody Somewhere and Report a
crime.
but The Crime remains Undefined, and the
Perpetrator has noface/1000 faces…

i heard the faintest LullaBye thats What
I heard,
Hush, hush, Babe,
but there Was No Singer standing
Over me….

brought back some 25 years to a moment in time, a sunshafted morning, tune wavelength blasting out of the speakers, I was living with a group of other university students, a big old house downtown, half of us lovers,…a strange bohemian mix of jetsam and flotsam,
and this tune …I walked away into the dining room, as everyone and all our cats were eating breakfast..and began to dance in the light shining down on the hardwood floor,

my friends and my lover looked up, watched in silence, smiling, ah , that’s just *cat*, let her be..
it was a happy sweet spot in time for all of us..barefoot and full of the promise of youth..

poetry and philosophy spilling everywhere..

and then several years later, another moment, morning, taking a bath in our downtown home, my newborn baby on a towel on the floor , cooing, kicking, multicolored stained glass play on the walls, the mirror reflecting back pure joy..

these travellers have long gone from my life, my first college live in lover, and yes, my baby..

wavelength..bring the sun back, van..I am so hungry for it.

And yeah, I will dance barefoot, free form..revel
just because..the dance goes on..

It is strange the appetites.There is the appetite for lust. Then, there is the appetite for Beauty….
Beauty being subjective and happened upon in the oddest and ugliest of moments.
Beauty being that strange hunger that mixes with sorrow and catches in the base of your throat, making a little sound escape.
I cannot speak for a man, but I DO know this..you hunger for it also. It cannot be owned or it eludes.
For me, I bow in reverence to Beauty/ it humbles one.
I have a whole body response to its mysterious appearance..I ache from somewhere in my core..I feel in its prescence the urge to cry.
My fingers tingle..the desire is to reach toward..to close my eyes and feel the shape of its message.
Beauty humbles the visual sense to take it in almost begs a lowering of the eyes , so that one might FEEL it with the other senses.
In these things have I found Beauty..
the Misfit on the streets..
a twisted tree stripped of bark
a teasing child begging to be chased
a word hovering between your Mouth and Mine
and the cast of Light, everywhere ..
everywhere..
in Aesthetics, with photography and other
artistic mediums one is taught to
look beyond the surface
to look at the space that surrounds an
object, to see the negative prescence..
the tricks of light..
The Phantom is always Present..waiting
to be revealed..
I cannot imagine living unaware of the
Phantom, and not paying homage to it.

Some do.
I watched dawn this morning alone..
momentarily a line of telephone
poles stretched as a row of crucifixes
silhouetted against the hills..
a trick or the Phantom? the reality that
lies behind all things?
Does it Matter?
It moved my throat…

This collaboration between visual artist Lucifer Lazerus…www.luciferlazerus.com, and poet poecatt, myself , is now available for free pdf download. Email myself at poecatt@luciferlazerus.com or Lucifer.

The cover shown here is available with title poem embedded..see Lucifer’s site shoppe for more information..it makes a lovely Bdsm themed piece of wall art.

When looking at porn, so many of the pictures present the subjects of the photo as static, to be possessed by the viewer, all there solely for the discreet pleasure of the one who would appropriate, the viewer.

However, when the subject..looks back at the viewer, says fuck you, I see you looking at me,

I SEE you..the power exchange is turned on its tail..

there is an ironic inverse..

The subject-object appropriates the viewer’s gaze

this is a power stance

and it a complete different sensation to experience than

passive beauty, no matter how dark and threatening the get up.

Is the subject objectifying the viewer…???

poecatt’s smirk for the day..

When I see others’ art of this nature, I am drawn into the force of their pyschic persona, not simply their corporeal body.

Who , I wonder then, is actually eating who?

In erotic trancing power exchange..both feel the draw…

you think looking at her breasts is hot..look into the eyes of a woman who knows herself powerfully as subject AND object..I dare you…

Plenty. This image from Dracula contains multiple elements that draw on the gothic genre …beauty and the beast, the darks’ hunger for the innocent and as yet untouched,that by appropriating the life force of the light , the dark is somehow empowered , sustained.

The suggestion that the Submission of the victim is one of trance, a coparticipation in exploring the pyschic depths, willing and unwilling, what lies veiled under the guise of immobility? What aggressions lie within “sleeping beauty”? to be awoke?

The placement of the hand on the “victim’s” breast, a breast mounded, swollen in excitement, anticipation, yet this knowledge filtered almost dreamlike into the submissive’s consciousness.

The coming bite, the sinking into a number of pyschic feilds of the other, not thru genital penetration, but thru that intimate of power exchanges, throat claiming throat….the power of pyschic domination.

The Domination by mind, not cock.

Dracula is commanding because as a archetypal figure his mixed and merged command of the erotic and the matrix of sadism and masochism..

is based on mind energy..the energies that spill to the supernatural, not merely brute embodied strength.

As such the symbolism of the bite is cerebral as much if not even more so than carnal..

I will penetrate your very dreams.

I will subjugate you thru energy exchange.

Our bond defies the sheerly physical.

The submissive is not all passivity and holly go lightly…to be awakened is a dicy card..sadism and masochism mirror one another as desires, the masochist appropriating the tools of the sadist to break the bonds of self, to

explore aggressive instincts towards both self and other..masochism is POWER. Blood, not procreation , is viral.

This picture suggests all this and more..phallic domination is the least of it, and perhaps this is what appeals to the highbrow in the lovers of goth and Dracula.. penetration is broadened beyond the almighty cock, or even the cock becomes superfluous..

just some musings from the cat..a ash, a footprint, a little tune in the dark, feel free to comment ..

Welcome! Enjoy a growing collection of informative and polemical articles and prose poetry, I write with a celtic influence, on a range of topics from D/s to madness and the way the topography of the land shapes a people and their collective soul… This space will feature interviews and I ... Continue reading →